


Rhea

by niqaeli



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niqaeli/pseuds/niqaeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's known all her life how fucking important the Federation and Starfleet are -- Winona certainly told her often enough to excuse why she couldn't be bothered to raise her own kid.  Future of humanity, like hell.  The way galactic politics are running, all Starfleet is for someone like her is a quick grave when war with the Romulans breaks out again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhea

**Author's Note:**

> Rule 63, yeah. This was going to be a retelling of the entire movie and was on pace to be ridiculously fucking long which is why I only ever finished the one scene. Chunks of this universe still live in my head so maybe when the second one comes out, I'll finish it. Or at least write a few more chunks.

**2255**

There's a hell of a lot of Starfleet in the bar tonight. There's always the construction workers, of course, and the occasional field trip from the Academy on walkies, but these aren't your usual brand of cadet-on-tour. These are all older, mostly 3rd and 4th years; something's up.

"Lotta drinks," Jamie observes, as the best looking woman in a Starfleet uniform in the bar tonight orders enough booze for the entire class of cadets.

"Yeah? Hadn't noticed," Starfleet says, smiling. "Oh, and a shot of jack, straight-up."

"Make that two; her shot's on me," Jamie tells the bartender.

Starfleet shakes her head, her hair swinging as she does. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"What? Don't even want to know my name before you shoot me down?" Jamie asks.

"You know, I'm fine without it," Starfleet says, teeth flashing brightly as she smiles.

Jamie shrugs. "You _are_ fine without it," she says, because it's true, and pauses. Hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so she plunges on. "Jamie. Jamie Kirk."

Jamie grins to herself when Starfleet caves after a few moments of looking stern. "Uhura," she admits.

"Uhura what?" Jamie asks.

"Just Uhura," Starfleet says, shaking her head.

"All right, Uhura," Jamie says, downing her shot as she comes around to slouch against the counter beside Uhura. "What the hell did you do to get banished to the ass-end of Iowa?"

"Wasn't banished," Uhura says, easily. "Here to see the _Enterprise_ ; Captain's already scouting his officers from the cadets."

Uhura has smarts and beauty, apparently, because even with the Federation in an armed peace that isn't, Starfleet's not staffing their new flagship with anything but the best. Especially of cadets who have no field experience. "So you're a potential for the Enterprise, huh. What're you studying that ranks you so highly?"

"Xenolinguistics," she says. "Study of--"

"Alien languages, yeah," Jamie says, irritably. "Not as stupid as I look. Morphology, phonology, syntax. Means you've got a talented tongue," she adds.

"Maybe," Uhura says, eyes rolling. "You'll never know."

"Yeah, I was getting that. What, a girl can't make friends?" Jamie says, fluttering her eyelashes. It looks ridiculous on her, which is the point, and it works. Uhura laughs, this time, a real laugh and starts to say something else, but never has the chance to finish, because a burly Starfleet cadet comes over to check up on Uhura and interrupts. "How're we doing?"

"We _were_ just fine," Jamie drawls, leaning back against the bar counter.

The cadet frowns at the unsubtly implied insult. "That's not how you talk to Starfleet, townie," he says.

Jamie snorts to herself. "How should I talk Starfleet, then?"

"With some _respect_ ," the cadet says, grabbing her wrist. She breaks free of it reflexively, and gets in his face.

"I'm not here for you, _Cupcake_ ," she says, her voice rough and low with fury, even as she notes Cupcake's friends gathering around the trouble.

"I guess you can't count, there's four of us, and one only one of you," cadet Cupcake says, gesturing.

"Yeah?" Jamie doesn't bother to tell him to get some more guys; she's probably seen more fights than this idiot has and nearly all of them similar odds. She's already moving when the punch comes, telegraphed. It grazes her cheek as she catches him with her knee; she blocks his friend's punch as Cupcake stumbles back and crashes into a table. It's looking like it'll be a pretty good fight by the time the third guy gets a pin on her for a few seconds and his friend lands a punch on her jaw.

"Guys, _enough_ ," Uhura says, still by the bar and looking decidedly unhappy. When they, predictably, don't stop, she puts herself between Jamie -- she's already freed herself -- and another blow with a perfectly executed block that speaks of gym training rather than bar brawling. "I said enough!"

Jamie smirks to herself when that doesn't stop them either; they're far enough gone to not even register that one of their own's stepped in.

It's a little strange to fight with someone actually helping. Most of the bar fights she gets into, well, no one wants to get in the middle of. A few guys have tried, on occasion, but it usually leads to them bleeding and unconscious by the end of things.

She's wiping blood from her mouth and looking at Uhura with a little more respect as she lands a vicious elbow in Cupcake's belly, when an instructor's uniform walks in to the bar, assesses the situation, and whistles.

"Outside! All of you!"

Which breaks everything up pretty nicely, as everyone in cadet reds snaps to attention. Shame, though. Jamie would've preferred to finish the fight out properly and get it out of her system.

Uhura looks at Jamie for a moment, mouth drawn, and shakes her head as she walks out, head held high.

One of Cupcake's friends mutters "Shit," as he walks past her and gets a good look at her, sees her bra strap sliding out from underneath her tank. "That's a _girl_." Jamie laughs because it's not the first time she's been taken for a man when she's out drinking. Though usually the fights _start_ when they clue.

"You all right?" the uniform asks her.

"Just fine, Papa Bear," Jamie says, rolling her eyes. Fantastic, just what she needs tonight: a concerned father figure.

"Mind telling me what the hell that was about?"

Jamie shrugs. "I don't mind, but I'm going to want a drink," she says, and wipes more blood off her mouth and looks down at her hand. "Huh. And about fifteen minutes to stop bleeding."

By the time she's gotten settled with a shot, some beer, and something to staunch the nosebleed, the instructor's uniform has introduced himself as Captain Christopher Pike, Chris if you'd like. Jamie snorts at that. Like _hell_ anyone calls him Chris; not this man.

"You know, I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are," Captain Pike says.

Jamie rolls her eyes. "Who am I, Captain Pike?"

"Your father's kid," he says. "For my dissertation I was assigned the _U.S.S Kelvin_. Something I admired about your Dad: he didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Learned his lesson," Jamie says, downing her glass. Orders another, because she can tell this conversation is not going to go well. No conversation about her father ever does.

"Depends on how you define winning," Pike says. "You're here, aren't you? You know that instinct to leap without looking, that was his nature too. And in my opinion, it's something Starfleet's lost."

"Oh, you are fucking kidding me," Jamie says flatly. It beggars belief; Captain Pike, the man Starfleet's giving their shiny new flagship, is _not_ sitting there with earnest eyes and a case of hero worship for her father, trying to recruit _her_.

Except apparently he is: "I looked up your file while you were off in the head, bleeding. Your aptitude tests are off the charts. So what is it? You like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?"

"Maybe I love it," Jamie says, leaning forward, eyes gleaming.

Pike doesn't react which earns him just a little bit of respect. Most people -- especially men -- flinch when she's in a mood like this. "So your Dad dies. You can settle for a less and ordinary life. Or do you feel you were meant for something better? Something special?" he says, an unearthly light shining in his eyes. "Enlist in Starfleet."

"You guys must be down on your recruitment quotas," Jamie says, bitterly.

"If you're half the officer your father was, Jamie, Starfleet could use you," he says, ignoring her. "You can be an officer in four years, you can have your own _ship_ in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's a peace-keeping and humanitarian armada--"

"We done?" Jamie asks, angry. She doesn't need a goddamn lecture. She's known all her life how fucking important the Federation and Starfleet are -- Winona certainly told her often enough to excuse why she couldn't be bothered to raise her own kid. Future of humanity, like hell. The way galactic politics are running, all Starfleet is for someone like her is a quick grave when war with the Romulans breaks out again.

"I'm done," he says, standing up. "Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves at 0800."

He looks at her more closely than just about anyone's ever bothered to before he speaks again. "You know, your father was Captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives. Including your mother's. And yours. I _dare_ you to do better," he says, and leaves.

Jamie plays with the stupid, themed salt shaker as she thinks about what Pike said. Her father was a damn fool who thought he was a hero.

She finds herself on her bike most of the night, what's left of it. Can't avoid the starship being built in town, and maybe that's why she still lives here anyway; she stares up at it, and thinks about the _U.S.S Enterprise's_ projected launch date: 2258.

It doesn't even hurt when she tosses the keys to her bike to a stranger.

"Four years? I'll do it in three," she says to Pike.


End file.
